The Beginning
by Ordos45
Summary: In the 1600s the Catholic and Protestant Wars ravaged Europe. Pope Urban VIII took drastic action to preserve the faith.
1. Prologue

Hellsing: The Order

Rating: PG-13

Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.

"Hello Rico," the blasphemer said, not looking up at the sound of a cocking gun, "Took you long enough."

"You are sentenced to death for your blasphemy," began Father Enrico Maxwell.

"Of course," said the blasphemer, yawning with boredom, "If you can kill me, feel free. Immortality is a chore."

A single gunshot rang through the room and a silver bullet blew apart the blasphemer's skull. With a sickening sound the head reformed.

"As I said, if you could kill me I'd welcome it," said the blasphemer, "For I have been cursed since the year of our Lord Sixteen Hundred And Thirty Three, sent to the New World to route out traitors and heretics and blasphemers of the faith by His Holiness Pope Urban VIII."

Enrico Maxwell was silent as the target continued, "My name is Andrew Bervaldi, and I am the founder of the Iscariot Order."

A/N: Extremely short I know, but gotta build the suspense.


	2. Chapter 1: Destination New Spain

**Hellsing****: The Order/The Beginning**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Chapter 1: Destination New ****Spain**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.**

"Good work Andrew," said Pope Urban VIII, smiling almost benevolently upon his favored servant. He picked at some nonexistent dirt beneath his fingernails, and asked in a somewhat less jovial tone, "You were recently in the north, how goes the war?"

"Horrid as ever when Christians fight Heretics," declared Father Andrew Bervaldi, "The Habsburgs may claim they hold not loyalty except that to the Church, but they merely seek to protect their own interests. The Swedish intervention continues to drive back our Catholic League, and Wallenstein was killed months ago by one of his own soldiers for attempting to negotiate a cease fire."

"Despite that unfortunate news, I believe you know which war I was referring to," said Urban VIII with an icy tone, but still benevolent smile on his face. He didn't have to spell it out for the Priest before him, and he knew it. He had Generals and Kings to tell him the state of that war that had begun with the Bohemian Revolt.

"The war my new…Order…wages against the Undead amongst the Protestant forces goes as well as can be expected Holiness," said Father Andrew Bervaldi softly, lest there be listeners behind curtains elsewhere in the room, "We've yet to lose a member, and we recently slayed one of the vampires that has been giving us trouble. We believe he was once a Swede."

Silence pervaded the room, and Andrew Bervaldi knew that his superior was digesting this information mentally, committing it so firmly to memory that he would never have need to write it down. Upon creating the Iscariot Order, Pope Urban VIII had decreed that no information about its existence would ever be committed to paper; all in all a wise decision befitting someone of the Papal tiara.

"What of your friend, Galileo," asked Father Bervaldi carefully, "I understand that he has been in the hands of the Holy Office of the Inquisition since April?"

"Unfortunately," said Pope Urban VIII his frown deepening, "He has yet to recant the beliefs he unfortunately espoused in the Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. I've unfortunately had to order he be given the Examination of Intention."

"I see," said Father Bervaldi, frowning also. He knew that Urban VIII must be feeling deep pain at having to issue such an order. That his friend be shown the instruments of torture that the Holy Office of the Inquisition would use in coercing a confession, and under his order, would undoubtedly be taking a toll upon him.

"Leave me with my thoughts Andrew," said the Pope sullenly, "I will summon you back to my chambers when I have need of you again."

To Father Andrew Bervaldi's surprise he was summoned again the next day by the Pope to come to his chambers. As he entered, a Cardinal in red left the room hurriedly. Cardinal Barberini, the Pope's nephew. It would seem that Galileo's trial had been concluded with less than satisfactory results. He entered the room and kneeled briefly, "I am sorry to His Holiness about his friend's trial."

Pope Urban VIII nodded briefly, "At least he has been spared burning at the stake, and I believe I can stop his prison sentence and commute it to a form of house arrest. He has admitted his guilt due to his regrettable state of physical unwellness. He has been said to abjure, curse, and detest his Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. Which as we both know is heresy."

"Of course, heresy of the highest order," agreed Father Andrew Bervaldi quickly, not saying that he believed Galileo might have had a good point in all of his works. He bit his lip, "I take it the heretical work is being burned, and that it has been placed on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum?"

"It has," said Pope Urban VIII, "As must be the case for all heretical works. Even if we must sacrifice those we call friends, we are called to defend the faith from heresy, from blasphemy, and from the minions of the Devil. Even if Lucifer's demons inspire those we would give mercy, we must be ever vigilant against them. That is part of why I have summoned you here Andrew…our vigilance is growing stronger here in Europe, but the New World is woefully undefended from native superstitions mixing with our own Christian beliefs to create heresies."

"As well as the Protestant power of England and her colonies," surmised Andrew Bervaldi with a raised eyebrow.

"Indeed. Your mission to fight heresy and the undead minions of Satan will be quite dangerous in both Catholic and Protestant territory," said Pope Urban VIII in a dangerously calm tone, "The Huguenots have been crushed by Richelieu in France, and he has reinstated his lap dog Samuel de Champlain as commander of New France. You may wish to tread carefully in New France should you go to that territory. However, I'm sending you to New Spain as a starting point. It seems that a heresy has begun to spread on the outskirts of the capital, Havanna. Once there, I'm certain that you will find other jobs to do. Report back to me in one year."

"Holiness," said Father Bervaldi with a bow. Then he rose and left the room. He would have to pack, and leave behind instructions for which of his subordinates would lead the newly formed Iscariot Order here in Europe while he was doing God's Work in the New World.


	3. Chapter 2: A Present Interlude I

**Hellsing****: The Order/The Beginning**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Chapter 2: A Present Interlude I**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.**

"So that was how I ended up in New Spain not long after, the wretched months it took to cross the Atlantic Ocean were quite hard, and it was only through God's Grace I did not lose my stomach to the wicked waves," Andrew Bervaldi continued.

Father Enrico Maxwell let loose a snarl, "How dare you claim God's Grace upon yourself blasphemer! You are a sinner worthy of exe-"

"All Iscariots are sinners worthy of execution Enrico," Andrew Bervaldi cut him off mid-word, "That is part of the reason I had no guilt in killing those you sent to kill me. Our very Order accepts the taint of sins untouched by most Catholics, in exchange for a chance to defend the faith. You may call me a blasphemer Enrico, but in my heart I have never abandoned the Church, not as it has abandoned me."

"You did abandon the Church, and your Order," roared Enrico Maxwell, voice reverberating the walls slightly.

"I've touched a nerve haven't I Rico," mused Bervaldi, "You fear for your own salvation. You fear what will happen to you if you cannot be granted absolution, if a Sin Eater is not on hand to consume your sins. Worse though, you fear immortality on Earth, cursed like me to wander until the end. I suppose I should go on with my tale while you aren't trying to shoot me again…"

A/N: Short isn't it, sort of like the first chapter? It's intended to be that way. This story mainly dwells in the realm of the past, which is where the longer chapters will take place; however shorter interludes in the Present will be roughly this length.


	4. Chapter 3: Heresy in Havana

**Hellsing****: The Order/The Beginning**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Chapter 3: Heresy in ****Havana**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.**

Havana, it seemed, was a rather large town by Colonial standards, but to one who had been from Paris to London to Rome to Madrid and even to Moscow, it was an unimpressive and small place. It was also just large enough to make an investigation into heresies difficult, for there were a number of places to hide, and reasons to consider. The Negro slaves for instance, brought in from the Dark Continent, and for the most part seemed to believe in their Pagan Loa and other beliefs that were contrary to the faith, even if they professed Christianity. Killing slaves would get him nowhere but in trouble with the local authorities, and this far from the power of the Papal States, he dared not risk that trouble.

Perhaps, he mused, he should begin in the very port he had entered not long ago. Many passed through, and ships offered a perfect place for clandestine meetings of changing locations. Ships also offered a perfect privacy against all but the most dead set hunters like himself; and few would dare board a vessel illegally, especially one flying the flag of the Spanish crown.

Crowded marketplaces might also offer shelter to would be heretics, hoping to meet and pass messages amongst the hustle and bustle, easily becoming lost in the crowds of happy and oblivious merchantmen and customers that would be unaware of the oily presence of such sin in their midst. After all, in the marketplace one could remain quite anonymous, yet at the same time be jovially chatty and raise little suspicions. Of course the messages might go through the markets, but the meetings might be held elsewhere, a tavern perhaps…or God forbid a church!

"Dear Lord," muttered Father Andrew Bervaldi, his simple brown robe flapping as he walked, "So many places for them to be. My God, I, your most humble of servants beseech you; point me in the proper direction so that I might smite those that have rejected your one true Church."

He turned into an alley, so intent upon his prayer that he did not note the man brandishing a knife until he was up against the wall. He regarded the knife with an almost amused and annoyed glare. Coldly he asked, "A highwayman robbing a simple Priest?"

"The Church has money father," said the wild eyed, long haired highwayman, "More than it needs. Surely you can spare your money for a man down on his luck and wanting to go back to Europe."

"At knifepoint," replied Andrew Bervaldi, "I think not."

His left armed snapped up and he gave the highwayman a shove to the chest with it, sending the knife and its wielder away. The highwayman quickly regained his balance and lunged at the Priest, only to be given a swift kick to the kneecap as the man of the cloth twisted out of the way. Stumbling, the highwayman turned again, this time to find himself being thrown against staccato wall by a palm to his chin.

The knife clattered from the hand of the highwayman and harmlessly onto the ground. Andrew Bervaldi made no motion to pick it up, instead walking over the injured assailant. He bent down and looked into the man's now somewhat more focused eyes, "Tell me about any heresy you know of."

"I don't know of any Father," said the wild eyed man, his more focused eyes seeming to go an oily black as he spat the final word.

"Demon infested retch you will tell me where to find the heretics practicing the heresy you spawned," roared the Priest, throwing the demon possessed man across the alley by his cloak. He bent next to the demon possessed highwayman and dipped his hand in a puddle of water, murmuring a prayer of blessing. After blessing the puddle he forced the man's face into it, and smoke began to rise. After a few seconds of this, he brought the head back out, covered in burns, "Now tell me what I need to know foul creature."

"They worship my master," gasped the demon possessed man, pain evident upon its burned features as it struggled against the iron hard grip of Father Bervaldi.

"Satan," prompted the Priest with disgust.

The demon possessed man was silent, and found his head once again thrust into the puddle of muddy holy water. He was kept this way for roughly twenty seconds before he was once more brought up to the face of the Priest. The stoic man of the cloth merely glared questioningly and angrily as the demon possessed man said one word, "Quetzaquotal."

"That's a new one," murmured Father Bervaldi to himself.

"He tells the people," coughed the demon possessed highwayman in pain, "that he is the Aztec God that they mistook us Spaniards for. You Catholics are so easy to manipulate, your stale ceremonies and religious doctrines grinding the free spirit into dust. We merely rekindle that love of mystery in religion, that belief that one can be something more than a pawn of the Pope. He has given meaning to so many, that soon he will have an army of your flock ready to fight and to die for him…already the savages in Méjico will."

"Interesting," whispered Father Bervaldi. He had struck gold, figuratively speaking, so early on in his endeavor. That meant the Lord was giving an act of Providence, or that the situation was worse than the Vatican could ever imagine. He hoped, no, he prayed silently, that it was the former. It dawned on him that the demon possessed man was suddenly talkative, more so than simple pain would create a need to be. Hefting the demonic man against the wall he hissed, "Why are you so cooperative now?"

"Because," the demon possessed man hissed back in a voice that sounded like two, "You are about to die."

The Priest turned quickly, bringing the demon possessed man around as well, as a shield, and two mini balls slammed into the torso at the heart. He threw the corpse towards his two new assailants, both in the dress of merchants from their appearance, and succeeded in knocking them down. They struggled to reload, and Bervaldi seized the knife which had lain prostrate on the alley dirt. With a cry he launched himself forward, slashing the jugular of one man as he came upon them, the blood spray splattering across the staccato wall of the alley. The other assailant threw down his musket to reach for a hunting knife, but Father Bervaldi already was upon him in a slashing furor that left the man dead with a cross-like wound in his chest within seconds.

He dropped the knife casually and straightened his simple brown robe. Then he strolled out the opposite end of the alleyway as if nothing was wrong. In fact things were going quite well, he knew he would spend many a productive hour in this marketplace, as it had proven itself to be a hub of heretics, and demons. However, what the highwayman had said about Quetzaquotal was deeply disturbing to him…it meant it was too late for containment in Havana. He would have to exterminate the cult wherever in New Spain it reached, and as it was one of the Devil's servants, it would be far reaching indeed.


	5. Chapter 4: A Present Interlude II

**Hellsing****: The Order/The Beginning**

**Rating: T**

**Chapter 4: A Present Interlude II**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.**

"Salvation is a beautiful thing Enrico," said Father Bervaldi, his eyes tracing the lines of the weapon in the younger Priest's hands, "So free, so cheap…yet we, as members of the Iscariot Order betray it."

"We do not betray salvation," growled Enrico, "We fight to prove ourselves worthy of it, fight so that others do not have to."

"I once believed that," Bervaldi said, shaking his head, "but things changed. I discovered the truth in Méjico."

"And what truth is that blasphemer," asked Enrico Maxwell, curious. He was interested in hearing the story after all; perhaps it would even provide him the clue as to how to kill this evil abomination.

A/N: Yep another short Present Interlude. I realized I needed to get back to work on my Hellsing fics. So, for the first time since the death of Pope John Paul II, and the election of Pope Benedict XVI, I present to you a new chapter. As always, expect the next one, set in the past, to be longer.


	6. Chapter 5: Igitur qui desiderat pacem, ...

**Hellsing****: The Order/The Beginning**

**Rating: T**

**Chapter 5: ****Igitur** **qui** **desiderat** **pacem** **praeparet** **bellum **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.**

Father Bervaldi drew his body back as the arrow sliced through the air where he had been only moments before. Twisting again to the space the arrow had sliced through a second wooden projectile pierced the space he had been seconds before. With a grunt he thrust himself against a tree and pushed away from it as two more arrows pierced the bark.

With a sneer he brought one holy blade down upon the head of a native follower of Quetzaquotal. Blood spurted outwards, but he was already on the move, the falling body of the native pierced by his companion's latest arrow. Bervaldi lifted his blessed blade instinctively, and the stone head of an arrow deflected away from him, passing within a centimeter of his face.

Disgusted Bervaldi dove into the underbrush, lightly aware of a stinging sensation as an arrow skimmed across his right thigh. Nearing the target he rose, slashing his blade down through the horse string bow, breaking it. His right arm shot out and caught the native below the jaw, sending him onto a rock with a satisfying crunch of bone, followed by the unmistakable rattle of death.

This made over fifty natives he had slain since his arrival in mainland Méjico. One also had to take into account the seven demon possessed merchants and the highwayman of course to receive an accurate summation. Whoever had said "Therefore, he who desires peace, let him prepare for war" was not far off.

Father Andrew Bervaldi desired peace for the innocent Roman Catholics worldwide, a hope of peace that they might live untroubled lives without having to fear the hordes of the Undead and the minions of Satan. However, the only way to do so was to be on this constant war footing, as his Order had been created for. Blasphemously he compared it to the greater eternal struggle between the Lord and Satan.

He walked a good distance before finding a spring of water. He sheathed his blades and began to drink of it, bathing his wound in its delightfully cold wetness. He was reaching for another handful when the warning came.

"Let only he who is pure of heart and intent, with the faith of a child, drink of this holy water, blessed by the Lord," the voice announced from everywhere, yet nowhere, "For as Adam and Eve partook of the forbidden fruit and gained the knowledge of true and evil, so shall he who drinks of this place partake the fruit of immortality."

"Who are you voice," demanded Andrew Bervaldi, eager to soothe his thirst.

"I Am," replied the voice, "and I Am that which soothes the thirst of the soul."

Andrew Bervaldi buckled at the knees, "I am unworthy, for I Am Not."

"Rise," said the voice, "and decide; immortality upon this world to uphold my will, or the inevitable death of this assignment."

"If I choose immortality," asked Bervaldi, "When will I enter the Kingdom of Heaven?"

"When one of pure faith and heart slays you," came the cryptic reply. It continued, "Your Order has taken up arms in My name. They are already damned without repentance."

"But my Lord, we-"

"Silence. Decide. Do not argue with your Lord," came the commands, like thunder rolling across the tropical evening.

Carefully, Father Andrew Bervaldi stooped, and gathered water within a hand. Then, still gazing about he drank, and in so doing became an earthly immortal, blight upon the grand design of God's tapestry. He looked about once more and declared, "I am your servant oh God. I shall cleanse this land Méjico of the heathens, of the demons, and of the blasphemers."

"Including Thyself," asked a voice, different than the one before, "Even when He offers it, earthly immortality is a blasphemy against God."

"Show yourself demon," demanded the Priest, unsheathing his blessed blades from his simple brown robes.

"Why," asked the demon, "When you have not yet shown your true self to any, including you?"

"What do you mean," demanded Bervaldi, his glances about now becoming frantic with the knowledge if he was caught off guard he would surely be disarmed and in a great deal of pain even though the Lord had said he was immortal now.

"Silly Nephilim," the demon chuckled, "do you not even realize your true nature?"

"Stop with your lies demon and show yourself," demanded Father Bervaldi, his voice a distinct barking of a man on the verge of losing control, "I will not believe that I am one of the byproducts of Fallen Angel and Human Flesh that were destroyed in the Great Flood!"

"You believe that angels do no continue to fall," asked the Demon, "You truly are pitiful. Do you really believe your father died in a skirmish with Protestants? What reason do you have for your natural healing abilities, your strength and unparalleled fighting skill that are of instinctual level?"

"Silence demon, come and face me," demanded Bervaldi, still waving the blessed blades around, "I have had enough of your lies."

"No little boy," laughed the demon, "I wish you to come to me, to my temple. That is, if my followers do not slay you first."

With that a hail of arrows and musket fire erupted from the thicket at the edge of the pool of water.


End file.
